Page 6 of Strip It Down (Spoiled by My Blue Collar Man #4)

Gentry

I love bookkeeping, working with numbers. Numbers don’t lie. They are what they are. I can totally lose myself in the organization and continuity. I can also obsess when something doesn’t add up.

Ayla is asleep in a playpen across the room in direct sight of my desk.

“Mr. Reed, you said you keep everything. You’ve got a couple receipts here from staff that don’t match what you penciled in. Do you happen to have the original quotes?”

“Got everything, Missy.” He opens a floor to ceiling cupboard behind his desk exposing stacks of corrugated boxes, each with a month and year neatly written on the front. “Seven years, by month. Those at the ceiling are the oldest. If there was a quote, it’s attached to the receipt.”

His complexion reddens a bit. “I have to say, the last few months aren’t as organized as say the first of the year and I’m behind in my comparisons and entries in the ledger book.

I must not have been feeling the best because I did notice a couple discrepancies but haven’t gone back to check them yet. ”

“That’s okay. I want to start the computer files back in January, so we have the whole year in one place for taxes and payroll. It’s only five months. It won’t take me long. If you don’t mind, since you said the last couple aren’t in the best order, could we go through those together?”

True to his word Mr. Reed is methodical. Every receipt has the job name and number, quote and final receipt, job foreman and crew. He even has hours by employee.

“This reminds me. I know you contract out electrical, plumbing and cement work. I see those invoices, but you also have timeclock staff for all the carpentry work. We need to train the staff on the new time keeping procedure. I’d like to start it next week since it’s the first of a new month. Is that possible?”

“Sure. How about Friday? That gives them a four-day notice, and we can meet out back in the barn we use for tools, supplies and storage. Normal starting time is eight, so I’ll send them a message to start here. I’ll sweeten the pot with coffee and rolls.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“What pot are we sweetening?” Sayer asks, walking into the room.

“Your girl here is quite the go getter. She’s already started entries so the whole year will be on the computer.

We were just talking about a training session on Friday to get our workers onto the new time clock style system starting officially on the first day of the new month next week.

I’ll send out a text message to everyone. ”

“You know if you give me all the numbers and emails, I can set up bulk lists that text them all at the same time for things like this meeting,” I offer.

“We’ll get that together tonight.” Sayer smiles and nods. “Anything else?”

“Not yet.”

“I thought we could order pizza before I take you home and fix your door.”

“What’s wrong with her door?” Dad asks.

“No peep hole or deadbolt.”

“That’s not safe.”

“I got it, Dad.”

My gaze shift toward the playpen. Ayla is standing up clutching the new doggie stuffy and silently staring at us. My heart breaks. Is this how the poor child has spent her time? Just observing?

Sayer notices my gaze. Crossing to her, he lifts her and snuggles his face into the crook of her shoulder, blowing against her neck. She smiles and wraps her arms around him.

“Say Dada. Say it like a litany. DaDa. Then slower more expressive. Da. Da. DaDa. DaDa. Da. Da. Almost like a song. Make it fun. Not just when you’re referring to yourself. The more she hears it, the more likely she will remember and try to copy.”

He studies me but does as I suggest. Then starts dancing around the room with her. Repeating it over and over until she giggles. He buries his head in her neck again but not before I see the moisture on his cheek.

Ayla starts to squirm. “Potty?” he says and rushes to the bathroom.

When he returns, we order pizza. I’m able to get a few more entries done on the computer while he sits on the floor beside her and she plays at her new table.

After cleaning up, he checks in with his dad to make sure he’s okay watching her for an hour.

In the car he explains, “I try to always take her with me when I can. She’s not my dad’s to raise.

He already helps a lot as it is. She’s been alone her whole life.

The social workers reported she spent most of her time in a playpen in front of a TV or just alone, from what they could tell.

Her mom would drug up and space out. I only use our playpen for naps so she can be in the same room as one of us.

“They also recommended easing her into a daycare environment, going with her an hour a day since she’s not used to being around kids or adults that much. Comparatively this is still a small town. I haven’t found ones that aren’t overcrowded already. The earliest opening is four months out.”

“She does need to be with other children. The playground at the park would be good, too. But I agree she could be easily overwhelmed. The work I’m doing for you seems pretty basic.

Once everything is loaded it shouldn’t be too hard to keep up.

If I’m working out of your house, I could even supervise a teenager for you.

Nothing is so pressing that we can’t all work together for a month or so, right?

Do you have a date when your dad is leaving on his trip? ”

“I’ll get the firm date tonight. He deserves being off with his friends too. His heart attack scared both of us.”

It doesn’t take him long to put in the peep hole or the deadbolt at my apartment.

“You’ve been frowning or scowling the whole time you’ve been here, what’s wrong?”

“This door is worthless. I could put my foot through it with no effort. It’s basically for show only.” He meets my gaze. “Gentry, this place isn’t safe. Especially since Greg knows you live here.”

Turning away, he runs a hand over his head before turning back. “He’s a piece of shit and I never understood what you saw in him in the first place.”

My heart pounds in my chest. “You think I dated that scumbag?”

“He told everyone you did. He talked about going to your house every night and…”

“So you believe everything you hear?”

“No but…”

“You need to leave. I’ll be at your house to work my job at eight in the morning.”

The next few days, I’m all business, except when he and his father are tied up and I can steal a few precious minutes with Ayla. I bring my own lunch and sit on the porch if he’s gone, or at my desk.

I’ve entered January through March of past records for the year. Everything matches up until I hit April. On Thursday I find his father on the porch, rocking a sleeping Ayla when I go to eat my lunch.

He glances up when he hears the screen squeak. “Come on out. She won’t wake. She loves when we do this. Probably because she never got held enough when she was a baby.”

We sit in silence while I eat and he rocks. When I finish, he looks my way. “What did he do? Or was it something he said?” He studies me another minute then nods and looks away. “Something he said.”

“He wasn’t much of a talker when he was little. More a watcher. Guess that’s why I’m not so surprised our little one is so quiet or why I don’t worry like he does. She’ll come out of it at some point and probably start with full sentences.

“Problem with Sayer, he’d let it build up then it would either spew out without thought or he’d take to his fists. A few ass kicking’s in the military fixed most of that. Age also helped.

“But when his passions are high…” He meets my gaze. “Being in love is hard. You keep it a secret because what if they don’t love you back? Then you’ve lost the dream too. My wife was two years older than me. Took me a while to get her attention.”

My heart skips a beat and I forget how to breathe for a second. What is he trying to say?

I stand and smile down on him. “And your girlfriend, MaryKatherine, is six years older. You might want to tell him because with all the coffee stops you’re making, he’s gonna figure it out. Seems like not talking runs in the family.”

He chuckles.